Spellcrossed

by Barbara Ashford

  It was not what I’d hoped for, but it was better than nothing. And maybe the show would help us connect as father and daughter as well as actor and director.

  “It’s been a long time since he’s performed,” Alex said. “Suppose he’s not up to it? Or something happens to set him off?”

  “I could understudy the part,” Bernie said.

  “Oh, Bernie, would you?”

  “If Bernie understudies the role, he goes on for the matinees,” Reinhard declared.

  “What are you?” Bernie demanded. “My manager?”

  “If you are going to add that to your long list of responsibilities, you deserve the chance to perform.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “We can split the role.”

  “What about the box office?” Javier asked.

  “I could work the matinees,” Catherine said. “If Bernie handles advance sales.”

  “You’re working way too hard as it is,” I replied.

  “I can do it,” she insisted.

  “I’ll run the damn box office,” Janet said.

  I swallowed hard. Everyone was working long hours to make this season a success. And now I was asking them to do more.

  “I’m being completely selfish. You all have more than enough to do. The Follies is plenty for Daddy to deal with.”

  “And when the Follies is over?” Lee asked.

  “Lee’s right,” Catherine said. “Jack needs more. And if we have to work a little harder to give it to him, we can.”

  It took longer to dislodge the new lump that formed in my throat. For the gazillionth time, I thanked God for giving me this staff.

  “Then we are all agreed?” Reinhard asked.

  One by one, every head nodded.

  “That still leaves us without a Mysterious Man,” Hal said. “Bernie can’t play both roles. Not with all those quick costume changes.”

  “I must have made a dozen calls after Bill left,” I replied. “The professionals all turned me down. And the locals were already committed to another show or a family vacation or—”

  “I’ll learn it,” Rowan said. “If you find another actor before rehearsals start—”

  “Why bother looking?” Hal exclaimed.

  “Because it might make Maggie uncomfortable to direct me.”

  I hesitated, knowing Rowan had directed the show before. But if we could deal with the “king and his courtiers” issue, we could deal with this, too.

  “Thank you. It’ll be great having you in the show.”

  “You just want to order me around the stage.”

  “Well. That, too.”

  We shared a smile. Then Janet asked, “And what about Alison?”

  “She has to find out about Daddy eventually.”

  “We’re not talking eventually. Opening night is a month away. If Jack is too traumatized to consider the role of the Mysterious Man, do you think he’ll be ready to see his ex-wife?”

  “Who knows what he’ll be ready for in a month?”

  “I could always go on while she’s here,” Bernie said.

  “But she’ll still see Jack’s name in the program,” Janet noted.

  “So I’ll pay to have extra programs printed. And just list Bernie’s name.”

  Mei-Yin groaned. “This is a recipe for DISASTER.”

  I shot a pleading look around the circle.

  Reinhard sighed. “We will work it out. Somehow. I would suggest, however, that we avoid the term understudy when we broach this to Jack.”

  “Tell him I asked for someone to share the role,” Bernie suggested. “Because I’m too old and feeble to handle all the performances. Then he’ll feel like a hero.”

  “Feeble, my ass,” I said. “You’re the hero.”

  CHAPTER 23

  A REAL NICE CLAMBAKE

  I LEFT THE MATINEE AT INTERMISSION and raced up to the Bates mansion to help with final preparations for the barbecue. There wasn’t much to do. Alex and Janet had supplied enough meat to satisfy the most raging carnivore. Bernie, enough beer to float a battleship. Catherine was bringing her Mexican bean salad, Mei-Yin, her German potato salad, and Hal, the fruited Jell-O with mini marshmallows that was a hideous—if hallowed—tradition at our gatherings. All that was left for me to do was throw some leafy green stuff together and set out the silverware and plates. At least Rowan wouldn’t have to bring his own utensils; Janet always used real silver, too.

  Mei-Yin fired up the grill with such maniacal enthusiasm that we all feared she would go up in flames. Self-immolation narrowly averted, we settled ourselves on the patio with pitchers of lemonade and daiquiris.

  The rest of the staff began trickling in shortly after the matinee let out. But still no sign of Rowan or Daddy.

  “The invitation was for 6:00,” Janet reminded me.

  I couldn’t help hovering anxiously on the front porch. At 5:58, I saw them marching up the hill.

  The screen door creaked, and I turned to find Janet observing me with a sardonic smile.

  “What’s wrong with being punctual?” I demanded.

  “Not a thing.”

  The two men hesitated at the foot of the steps, then held up their containers.

  “We brought dessert,” Rowan said.

  “Blueberry pie, apple pie, and peach cobbler,” Daddy declared. “We baked them ourselves.”

  I suspected Rowan had done the baking, but I just smiled, happy to see his enthusiasm.

  “The faery Betty Crocker,” Janet noted.

  “No more Fae comments,” I whispered. “Bernie’s here.”

  Daddy nodded solemnly, then marched up the steps and peered through the screen door. Rowan just looked up at Janet. She stared back at him for a long moment, then gargled something, which I took to be Gaelic. Rowan gargled something in reply. Her sardonic smile returned, but she merely ushered us inside.

  “What was that all about?” I whispered.

  “A Scottish tradition,” he replied just as softly. “Janet offered me one hundred thousand welcomes. I wished her good health and every good blessing to those under her roof.”

  “You do this every time you go visiting?”

  “Janet’s never invited me to her home before.”

  “What are you talking about? She invited you here today. And to all the cast parties. Which you refused to go to until I dragged you.”

  “The cast parties don’t count. She knew I wouldn’t attend. And you invited me here today, not Janet.”

  “But you’ve been inside the house. After Helen’s heart attack. And—”

  “This is the first time Janet has ever personally invited me into her home. Asked me to sit at her table and break bread together.”

  “So it’s a really big deal.”

  “It is to me.”

  I touched his arm lightly, and he smiled. Then we hurried after Janet and Daddy.

  Rowan gazed longingly at the library, but when he entered the enormous country kitchen, his eyes widened.

  “Kitchen envy?” Janet inquired.

  “Kitchen lust,” he admitted, placing his containers on the counter. His fingertips skimmed lightly over the marble while his gaze roamed from the stainless steel appliances to the gleaming white cabinetry to the terracotta floor.

  “Pretty ritzy, huh?” Daddy remarked. “Janet must be loaded!”

  Rowan grimaced. Janet just laughed. “That’s me. The wealthy widow.”

  “A widow?”

  I was appalled to detect a speculative gleam in my father’s eyes.

  “And determined to remain one,” Janet said firmly.

  As she led us into the sunroom, Daddy’s head came up like an animal scenting the air. “Charcoal!” he exclaimed. Then rushed outside and trotted down the steps to the lower patio.

  “The lure of the grill,” Janet remarked. “Men can’t resist it.”

  Apparently, Rowan could. He just continued to survey the sunroom: the hanging plants above the white shutters, the flowered upholstery on the lo
ve seat, the crockery vase filled with fresh-cut flowers.

  “This room reminds me of Helen.”

  “It was her favorite place,” Janet said.

  “I can almost feel her here.”

  “I think I have felt her,” I said.

  I told them what had happened in Rowan’s apartment and in my bedroom, the countless times I’d seemed to sense Helen’s presence in the Bough. Always, I suddenly realized, when I felt sad or troubled or needed reassurance.

  “That’s when I feel her, too,” Janet said quietly.

  “Is it possible?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to believe that she’s watching over us. Offering us reassurance when we need it. Just as she did in life.” Janet blew out her breath impatiently. “First faeries. Now ghosts. Next, we’ll have werewolves roaming the woods.”

  “Helen wouldn’t allow that,” I said.

  “No. She never liked hairy men.” Janet’s gaze slid over Rowan. Then she strode onto the patio.

  I started to follow her, then noticed Rowan’s troubled expression. He rarely spoke of Helen, but I knew how much he must miss her. She had been his friend and confidante and—briefly—his lover. The one person on the staff with whom he could let down his guard.

  “It must be a comfort,” he said. “Living in this beautiful house. Feeling her presence.”

  I nodded.

  “Even if—when—I get a real identity, I’ll never be able to give you a home like this.”

  Dumbstruck, I just stared at him. “Who’s asking you to?”

  “I know you’re not asking, but—”

  “I lived in a shoebox in Brooklyn.”

  “You lived there. It wasn’t your home.”

  “Yes. But the home I grew up in wasn’t much bigger than your apartment.” I shook my head, still reeling. “Jesus, Rowan. If all I wanted from life was a big house and a fancy car and expensive vacations, I would have set my cap for Long!”

  “I just don’t want you to be…disappointed.”

  “I am disappointed! You say you know me and you still think that I need that kind of stuff to be happy!”

  His frustration stabbed me. “Of course, you don’t need it. But I need to feel I can take care of you.”

  I resisted the urge to shout, “I can take care of myself!” This was about his pride, his sense of self. I’d been so consumed with helping Daddy find his place in the world that I’d overlooked Rowan’s struggles. And clearly, he was struggling, although he had hidden it from me.

  “You helped me rediscover my past. You helped me find my path. You gave me my father and $50,000 to start a new life. Most of all, you loved me enough to come back and share that life. From where I stand, you’ve given me an awful lot.”

  Some of the tension drained away, but he still looked troubled.

  “You’ve done everything you can to support me when it must kill you to see all the changes at the theatre you built and ran. I can’t promise it’s going to get easier any time soon. But I swear you won’t have to keep hiding in the shadows and watching from the sidelines. You’ll direct again. And we’ll work together and live together—and take care of each other.”

  His arms came around me. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Hell, no! It’ll be hard work. Even you might have a few gray hairs before this is over.”

  “Well, Bernie would find that reassuring.”

  I molded my body to his and whispered, “I don’t want the house or the car or the vacations. I just want you.”

  And he obviously wanted me. He might be able to control his power, but the hard ridge in his pants was difficult to disguise.

  “Get a ROOM!” Mei-Yin called from the patio.

  We jumped apart. Rowan glared at Mei-Yin. As he started toward the patio, I caught his hand.

  “I have a room, you know. Maybe we could…?”

  He hesitated, desire warring with discretion. Then he shook his head. “We’ll find a time and a place to make love. For now, we’ll just have to enjoy each other from a respectable distance.”

  I had to enjoy Daddy from a distance, too. In true ur-male tradition, he parked himself by the grill with the other men. Judging from the occasional laughter, they were all having a good time and that was the important thing.

  Rowan made awkward conversation with the female contingent. At first, I thought he was still troubled by our conversation, but I gradually realized that in all the years he had worked at the Crossroads, he’d never actually socialized with his staff.

  I plied him with daiquiris, and by the time we settled in around the picnic tables on the lower patio, he seemed more relaxed. But although he answered pleasantly whenever anyone addressed him, he took little part in the noisy free-for-all conversation.

  By contrast, Daddy chatted easily with everyone as we chowed down on burgers, hot dogs, and bratwurst. Rowan and Catherine washed their meals down with milk, drawing a grimace from Daddy who drained the last of his Long Trail Double Bag Ale in a few deep gulps.

  “How many has he had?” I whispered to Reinhard.

  “Only one. I was the keeper of the cooler. Now, he has a new reason to dislike me.”

  “Great BURGERS,” Mei-Yin called.

  “Thank Jack,” Lee said. “The man knows his way around a grill.”

  Daddy beamed. “It’s all in the patties. Most people make them too thin. Three-quarters of an inch—that’s my rule. And never flatten them with a spatula. Squeezes out all the juices.”

  Eager to involve Rowan in the conversation, I asked, “Are you getting all this?”

  “Jack just won himself the role of head chef. For our non-fancy-schmancy meals.”

  When the laughter subsided, Janet said, “We were wondering if you’d like another role, Jack. In the Follies.”

  Daddy’s eyes widened. Rowan slowly lowered his fork and stared at his plate. When he finally raised his head, the blank mask was firmly in place.

  Why did Janet have to spoil this by fucking with Rowan? He obviously believed we were excluding him from the invitation.

  She ignored my furious look and said, “Usually, it’s just the staff that performs. But we’re doing Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and the doubling is a nightmare. Which is why we could use your help.” Her eyes locked with Rowan’s. “And yours. If you’re so inclined.”

  Rowan took a sip of milk, slowly lowered his glass, and patted his lips with his napkin.

  “Say something!” I demanded.

  “Hush, Maggie,” Janet said. “You’re spoiling the moment. Rowan’s drawing out the tension the way I just did. A fine theatrical tradition.”

  “And here I thought you were just screwing with me,” Rowan remarked. “A fine Janet Mackenzie tradition.”

  They regarded each other as intently as they had outside the house. Then Rowan smiled and raised his glass of milk as if toasting Janet.

  “It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

  As I let out my breath, Rowan nudged Daddy. “So what do you think? Would you like to be in the Follies?”

  “Of course! I still remember the show from my year. Hansel and Gretel. You were the wicked witch.”

  “Rowan was the wicked witch our year, too!” Bernie exclaimed.

  “I’m always the wicked witch,” Rowan remarked dryly. “And Catherine always plays the ingénue.”

  “Not this year,” Catherine replied. “My big role is Sleepy. Not much of a stretch.”

  “I’m GRUMPY,” Mei-Yin said. “Not much of a stretch for ME, either.”

  “I am Happy,” Reinhard said, staring glumly into his ale.

  “And I,” Janet announced, “am the Evil Queen.”

  “So many comments spring to mind,” Rowan murmured.

  “Try to restrain yourself.”

  “So who is playing Snow White?”

  I groaned and raised my hand. “I told them I didn’t have the time or the energy or the ditzy soprano voice, but—”

  “Wer
en’t you complaining about casting when we met?” Rowan teased and laughed when I stuck out my tongue. “Do Jack and I have to guess our roles or are you going to tell us?”

  “I was supposed to play the Prince and Sneezy,” Lee said.

  Daddy frowned. “But then you wouldn’t have the right number of dwarfs at the end.”

  “Exactly. But now that you’re onboard…”

  “You want me to play the Prince!”

  There was a horrifying moment of silence.

  “Uh…no,” Lee said. “We’d like you to play Sneezy.”

  I watched in agony as the emotions flitted across Daddy’s face: disappointment, annoyance, truculence.

  Rowan nudged him again. “Come on, Jack. An inveterate scene stealer like you should be able to add five minutes to the show with those sneezes.”

  A slow smile blossomed on Daddy’s face. “Damn straight!”

  I clapped my hands like the delighted child I was. “Then it’s all settled!”

  “No, it’s not!” Rowan retorted. “Who am I playing? Let me guess, Janet. Dopey?”

  “Tempting. Alas, we need you to play the old crone.”

  “But…that’s the Evil Queen.”

  “The transformation is a bit daunting. We need some of that special Rowan Mackenzie magic to pull it off.”

  Rowan’s face lit up, then creased in a frown of concentration. “I’ll need a flash pot,” he said, turning to Lee. “And a strobe.”

  “No problem.”

  “And I have to die spectacularly.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Janet said.

  “No, don’t!” I protested.

  “The old crone has to plummet to her death from a rocky crag,” Rowan said.

  “No plummeting. No crags.”

  Rowan smiled sweetly. His power teased through my body, a coaxing caress that urged me to give in. I glared at him, and it subsided, but his pleading look remained.

  “Fine. But if you break your neck…”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m a professional.”

  And a faery. He could probably plummet from a rocky crag and stick the landing like Mary Lou Retton.

  We discussed the Follies over dessert and coffee. Rowan’s baking won a lot of compliments, which seemed to surprise and please him. As the shadows deepened, Janet lit the votives on the picnic tables and Mei-Yin turned her pyromaniacal talents to the tiki torches.